First Daughter, Still Standing

Truth does not abandon the hearts that fly free.

Stories of my grandmothers.

My grandmother on my mother's side, Juanita Airington Kolhs, passed away when my mother was only four years old. Her early death left behind stories that unfortunately took years to unfold and were yet to be told to me years into my mother's elderhood. My father’s mother, Audrey Mae Stanton Bonner, was with us until 1976. I was a young mother and 28 years old when she passed. Known as Deedee mom to her family. I had the privilege of knowing her and spending a great deal of time with her while I growing up and all throughout my early adult life.

As young wives and mothers both of my grandmothers packed water when needed, milked cows, grew vegetables and flowers. Harvested corn, beets, tomatoes, potatoes, and more. They both rode horses, and not for pleasure. Raised chickens and children along side of each other. My father told me his mother carried baby chicks in her apron when working outside to protect them from harm. I remember Deedee mom telling me when she was in and out of sleep after coming home from nursing home after care to, "Remember to leave a pan by the faucet for the water to drip in for the chickens." A statement that I reflected on as a young mother myself at the time. My Grandmothers loved their babies with compassion and protection and demonstrated strength and courage in times of trial that reflected that love.Stories of these were brought to me by my parents. My Grandmother's carried courage in their hearts and handed that courage to me.

I know this. I am the first daughter still standing. I know this because I am a witness to their love and carry it deep in my heart and soul. There are two stories here. I will write about my grandmother Juanita and my mother first.

I am the daughter of a mother who loved me deeply. She was raised without a mother from the age of four. Yet she knew how to love. I was deeply loved. Never truely abandoned except at my own will. Life's lessons, my choices, my mistakes, the trials, and suffering from them all became my teachers. I take full responsibility! The loss of my grandmother created unknown strength and courage in my mother to love deeply and do her best. She accomplished just that.

My mother was left alone early by her mother, to an illness of hidden truths that stories and letters barely revealed. From those family stories and letters that I've read, I beleive my grandmother Juanita suffered from depression, which today in young mothers is diagnoised as postpartum depression or PPD. Certainly not a recognised medical diagnosis in 1933. Her passing was from an unfortunate miscarriage of her fourth child which took her life on June 23, 1933. There was some concern that arose from me in having read a few letters to my grandmother Juanita's husband, Sunny Kolhs from my grandmother Juanita's mother, Florence Airington. One letter Florence wrote in July of 1933, stated how sorry that she could not come out from Hayward, California where she and the rest of the Airington's lived at the time to Fruita, Colorado where my grandparents had settled. In the letter my great grandmother wrote that she was sorry she hadn't written Juanita more often. She wrote that it was the same old stuff going on for Juanita and she knew that my grandfather Sunny and his family had been doing all they could for her. It was distressing for me when I first read this letter. This letter and several others were kept in a cigar box in a trunk that would come to my mother the year before she passed away. In that trunk the letters would also be a purse that belonged to Juanita. In that purse was a undetermined medical perscription for Juanita that had not been filled as best I could figure out. My grandmother was one of eight children. There were sevral letters from other members of the Airington family urging Sunny to come to California so Juanitia's family could help him with the children. This was something he could not do. As one of seven children himself, his parents and siblings all lived in Fruita and that is where his livelyhood as a farmer was as well. There are stories from my mother about how the Kohls family helped with the children. At one point early in the first year of Jaunita's passing my mother went to live with her aunt up the road from her father. It's never enough and being without her mother as her father worked endlessly on the farm left her tangled in un-named grief the whole of her life. One day on one of her visits to Anacortes, Washington where I was living and raiising my daughters, we were in a antique store in La Conner, WA called Nasty Jack's. Upstairs there was a rocking chair and when my mom saw it she said, "Oh my gosh that is the same rocking chair daddy sat in for so long, and I though he would never stop crying." That was one of the first time's she had eer shared anything about that time in her life with me. I beganto understand that my grandfather had no idea how to take care of the three young children born close in age together as he continued his work as a farmer of eighty acres. The sadness remained burried in their grieving hearts. This grief and pain settled deep in my mother's blood and bones from the moment of her mother's tragic death and would take her breath away. She suffered from asthma as a child and adult, and would pass away from emphazema, COPD and peripheral neuropathy.

My grandfather Sunny worked hard from sun up to sun down. He grieved the loss of his wife. They were very much in love as my mother tells the story. However, without any support for the heartache he and his children were experiencing, they were all left with the tragedy and grief to carry on. Sunny would eventually marry his housekeeper that he hired sometime after Juanita's death, a story of it's own that I will not share here. The trunk would sit in my mother's closet of the bedroom where she grew up. She told me she remembered it was in her bedroom closet as a child. The trunk would eventually come back to her by very sweet relatives, who drove from Colorado to Washington state where my parents eventually retired. The remains of some of Juanita's things were still in the trunk, including many family photos, the many letters my grandfather that had been saved over the years, and a lock of my grandmother's hair.

I read the letters in the trunk, that was carried from Colorado to my mother by great grand nieces in 2014, the summer before mom passed away at the age of 86. I was 67 years old.

As the first granddaughter that trunk and the photos and letters of condolences was left to me and had in my closet aince 2015, before I finally read and labeld the letters, sorted out her things and after heart felt turmoil, I needed to empty it completely, saving a few items and then taking the trunk to the second hand store. Thia was in 2024. The old trunk now a treasure for someone else.

Before all that however, my mother and I went through all that was in that trunk. We did not read the letters in the cigar box together, she may have when I was not with her. I dont know. Each time I visited her to go through the trunk I would record my mother telling me stories. Each photo becoming another page in her history for me as we went through them. I noticed the beautiful stories and the sorrows in her heart that she carried for so long lifted some of her pain and created a space for joy during those days. I knew then how she learned to deeply love herself and her five children and her life. She did not allow the pain to confuse or manipulate her love. Nor did she allow the love between her parents that she felt and remembered to vanish from her heart.

My courageous mother was too young to be a breathless and motherless child. My Grandmother was too young to die. I know this because I feel it and I carry it in my heart. There were gaps in our relationship of course. How could there not be. As the oldest of five children, I sometimes was left to wander, growing up with that vulnerability and yearning for the answers that hid in a void. My mother did not know how to willingly share her pain and yet and still, she did in her actions that I came to understand. There were gaps and quietness which I witnessed in her not being able to show up for me at a school play or music concert or a gathering outside our family. In time as we worked together going through the contents in the trunk, which took a few months because too much was too much at one time, her heart softened to be able to share what she had long been holding in. She told me stories that were told to her about her mother, my grandmother. The fastest rider, the best at catching fish. How the children ran barefoot and free and played joyfully and without fear. “Little urchins we were called by some of the farming neighbors”, my mother said.

Healing stories. For truth does not abandon the hearts that fly free.

I'm the first daughter still standing now and I carry these stories and deep healing in my heart. I share them willingly.

Conversations held as miracles.

I carry the wisdom of the now untangled grief and weave it with the heart of my mother and grandmother with love, with the deep love, that was gifted to me from their lives and their courageous stories and experiences. Healing that did not come without the tangled, strangling grief of a breathless child left wandering, vulnerable, and motherless, holding on the love in her heart and courageously offering that love to me and each one of her beloved children.

I know this now. Because I am the first daughter still standing and I am my mother's witness.

The story of my father's mother, Audrey Mae Stanton Bonner, is beautiful and courageous and painful. She first came to visit us when I was just learning to talk. My father wanted me to understand that his mother was coming to visit. I did not call my father daddy or Dada, I called him Deedee. He told me Deedee's mom was coming to visit. Thereafter, she was always Deedee mom to me, and throughtout her life to the rest of her grandchildren and family. Deedee mom was at our home for every birth. She cared for my mother and the new baby, she cooked and cleaned while mom rested from childbirth and nurtured us all. There are five children in our family. Deedee mom was there when my dad and I brought my baby brother and mom home from the hospital, their fifth and very unexpected child. I was fourteen at the time, I became her helper. There was much for me to do. Several months later when it was time for Deedee mom to leave, I stayed the helper of caring for my baby brother. I wheeled him in his stroller as I sold Girl Scout cookies all around the neighborhood. He was the center of attention at sleepovers and birthday parties.

Deedee mom was left to care for herself and her two sisters when she was about 12 years old. Her mother had passed away from an illness that I dont remember ever talking to her about. There are no stories that I can remember of her mother's illness. Never the less, Deedee mom became quite self relient at a very early age. My father tells me that when he was a boy he drove cattle with his father on a cattle ranch that they worked on. My grandmother was the cook for the ranch hands, dad said. He has stories that he has written about and so I wont try to go between the lines here. My dad's family stories, which have been written and told by him have been recorded and preserved. They are wonderful in their own right. They are on our website, with his own link, Bob Bonner's Stories.

What I will write about is what I learned from Deedee mom. I spent a great deal of time with her. I stayed with her many weekends. By the time I was ten years old I knew how to make dresses and worked with her on hand made quilt projects. Every one of her grandchildren was given a handmade quilt at some point in their childhood. Her quilts were a part of us. When I was a young girl Deedee mom was a caretaker for a priest in a Catholic Church in Santa Clara, California. I would help her in her work. We would shop together. She taught me how to set the table for serving the priest breakfast and dinner, where to place the silver, the crystal glasses, the bell next to his chair that he would ring if he needed something. I learned how to cook in a style of presentation for the table. Beautiful side dishes with various colors and displays, just like in the cooking magazines. I learned how to buy a pork roast and how to make jello salad in just the right mold and with just the right fruit. In the evening she would sew on her machine and I would watch her, sometimes helping. One weekend she decided I needed a new pair of pajamas. I stood by her sewing machine and watched her sew me a pair of blue flowered, flannel pajamas that I wore to bed that night.

In the Spring of 1976 she had been suffering from breast cancer and was just home from being in an after care nursing center. My father asked me if I would spend time with her. My children were 1 1/2 and 3 1/2 years old. We stayed with her for about a month. She was mostly bed ridden, but slowly found energy. We would sit together and go through her photo albums. She would share her stories and treasures. We would cook together. One day she got up from bed, knowing I would be leaving soon, and made me a beautiful pink flowered, long flannel nightgown. I was going back to Washingtion where I lived and she wanted me to be warm. I had made pajamas and robes for my children from what she taught me, so they did not have a need at the time. Those precious days were the last that I would be with my Deedee mom.

Endearing to me was her commitment to every year making each grandchild a special birthday cake. For every birthday she somehow managed to show up to make a cake, and always from scratch, even the frosting. She had a very special musical birthday cake plate that played happy birthday. I learned to make the best apple dumplings and carrot cake and yes, the best german chocolate cake ever from her. I flew to her funeral in California the Fall of 1976 with my little daughters, just a few months after we had spent that precious month together, to join my family and the hundreds that attended her funeral at the Methodist church in Santa Clara where she was a member. Deedee mom is buried at the Mission Cemetary in Santa Clara. Her son Leroy Bonner, was layed to rest next to her after his passing in 1996.

I am the first daughter still standing. I am a mother. I am a Grandmother.

I am deeply loved. And I love deeply.

I am sometimes breathless with pain. I have healing stories of my own to share. I speak of them willingly, but not always. I learned this from all the beautiful women in my family who carried courage in their hearts. Released. Freed from wandering, knowing my heart and my path.

My daughters will not be breathless. Too often. My mother is no longer breathless. She Flies Free.

My daughters are deeply loved. I know this, because I see it, I feel it in their children, my six grandchildren. My grandchildren are deeply loved. They deeply love. I know this because I witness their love. I am their Grandmother. I am still standing.

My Grandmothers rode horses.

They carried courage in their hearts and passed it on to me. Courage to deeply love, held firmly like the strength of a horse that holds all the wisdom the ancestors carry. Passing it down through their hearts, with the power and strength of a horse, yet gentle as the soft downy feathers of a baby chick, like the smooth leather of a saddle bag.

I know this. I am Grandmother still standing. I hold the wisdom oh my ancestors in each breath I take.

I’ve learned how to breathe. They have gifted me the understanding, the wisdom of their trials, pain, and suffering and courage. The power in my Grandmothers, in my mother, is the the power of their endless courage to love deeply. I know this.

I am First Daughter, Still Standing.

Photo taken by Chuck Britt, on December 24, 2024 at Grandview Cemetary, Anacortes WA. Where my parents are buried.

March and New Beginnings as a Baha’i

Good morning, today begins the Baha'i fast. March 1st through March 19th. I have been studying the Baha'i Faith now since 1973. My deepest attraction to the Baha'i teachings has been the principle of progressive revelation. Over the many years of participating in the Baha'i community, and as a person who has accepted Baha'u'llah as the most recent manifeststion of God, I have found a path of growth for my spiritual development and practice. I have aquired a deep understanding of the development of humanity's collective spiritual growth through stydying the Baha'i Holy writings. I have come to understand, through my process the purpose of my life as a spiritual human being living in these times. I have had the blessing of visiting the Baha'i House of Worship in Willemette, Illinois and have visited the Baha'i World Center in Haifa, Israel three time. "Bahá’u’lláh designated Bahá’í Houses of Worship as spiritual gathering places for prayer and meditation around which will cluster social, humanitarian, educational, and scientific institutions. Eight continental, two national, and four local Bahá’í Houses of Worship have been built."

https://news.bahai.org/media-information/houses-worship/

Today as the fast begins for Baha'is all over the world, I wish to share with you what lifts me up and provides solice for me as I navigate through my world, and as I've worked to express in my blog writings describing the foundation behind my life's experiences and practices. Recentlt I've been referring to these principles as developing healthy self reflective "action plans".

Today I offer up a brief account from two Baha'i web sites. The first the Baha'i perspective on progressive revelation. The other describes the Baha'i fast, with a few beautiful quotes and prayers from the Baha'i Holy Writings.

The photo is the entrance to the Shrine of Baha'u'llah in Acre, Israel, taken when we were on our nine day Baha'i plilgrimage in 2003.

https://www.bahai.org/bahaullah/shrine

The Baha'i Writings teach that "Humanity’s spiritual, intellectual and moral capacities have been cultivated through the successive teachings of the Founders of the world’s religions—the Manifestations of God. Among Them are Krishna, Abraham, Moses, Zoroaster, Buddha, Jesus Christ, Muhammad and, most recently, the Báb and Bahá’u’lláh. Each religion originates with God and is suited to the age and place in which it is revealed. In essence, the religion of God is one and whose progressive revelation is unfolding.

Progressive revelation, a core teaching in the Baha’i Faith, suggests that religions are inherently one and that truth is revealed by God progressively through a series of divine Messengers. Each Revelation is tailored to suit the needs of the time, the place of their appearance and the capacity of humanity.

https://www.bahai.us/beliefs/building-community/progressive-revelation/

Sharing here from the web site: https://www.bahai.org/beliefs/life-spirit/devotion/fasting

Please note you will find the proper references to the quotes below at the web site.

FASTING Fasting has been a significant practice of religion throughout human history. Many of the Manifestations of God Themselves went through a period of meditation and fasting at some point in Their lives during which, in intense communion with God, They contemplated the mysteries of the universe and the nature of Their mission.

Fasting, said ‘Abdu’l-Bahá “is the cause of awakening man. The heart becomes tender and the spirituality of man increases. This is produced by the fact that man’s thoughts will be confined to the commemoration of God, and through this awakening and stimulation surely ideal advancements follow”.[1]

However, it is important to note that fasting should not be viewed as a practice of asceticism, nor is it to be used as a means of penance: “[T]his material fast is an outer token of the spiritual fast; it is a symbol of self-restraint, the withholding of oneself from all appetites of the self, taking on the characteristics of the spirit, being carried away by the breathings of heaven and catching fire from the love of God.”[2]

Bahá’u’lláh designated a nineteen-day period each year during which adult Bahá’ís fast from sunrise to sunset each day. This period coincides with the Bahá’í month of Alá—meaning Loftiness—from 2 to 20 March, which immediately precedes the Bahá’í new year. It is a time of prayer, meditation, and spiritual rejuvenation.

A number of special prayers have been revealed specifically for the period of the fast. One, for example, begins with these words:

“This is, O my God, the first of the days on which Thou hast bidden Thy loved ones to observe the Fast. I ask of Thee by Thy Self and by him who hath fasted out of love for Thee and for Thy good-pleasure—and not out of self and desire, nor out of fear of Thy wrath—and by Thy most excellent names and august attributes, to purify Thy servants from the love of aught except Thee and to draw them nigh unto the Dawning-Place of the lights of Thy countenance and the Seat of the throne of Thy oneness. Illumine their hearts, O my God, with the light of Thy knowledge and brighten their faces with the rays of the Daystar that shineth from the horizon of Thy Will.”[3] — BAHÁ’U’LLÁH—

Turning off facebook...and all the rest.

Social media has walked away with real community building, creating division and isolation. Yale Univeristy research states that, "Suicide deaths among 10- to 24-year-olds increased by 62% from 2007 to 2021. Research, released the summer of 2024, found that suicide is rising dramatically in preteens as young as 8 years old as well, with an 8.2% annual increase from 2018 to 2022". I watch children in grocery stores, and parks, and driveways, on their phones. I watch young adults crossing the street when the light turns green, staring at their phones instead of who might be ramming into them at any moment. I observe reckless interactions of unkindness across plateforms on facebook, etc. When I first started entering the facebook world years ago it was to stay connected with my kids, and now my grandkids (on Instagram) and family and friends. These days I absolutely love connectiong with my friends and family on facebook, however I find myself completely undisciplined, scrolling and getting emmersed in painful stories of unkind and treacherous behaviors. Anxious, and ever wakeful about the cruel and rapid distruction of our democracy occurring since January 20th, again! My question of how to engage in community building lingers in my heart.

Yesterday I decided to take a deeper path of discipline for myself and disengage in my habitual habit of scrolling the news for the next trump train wreck and checking out what everyone else was up to. Not my first rodeo in this endeavor, that is for sure! Ive been "blogging" since 2010. However, here I am, again. I have invited folks to join me here. So..If you have joined me here and are reading this, please comment, thank you! Know that writing is my way of resisting any and all repression, self inflicted or otherwise, that I am/have been feeling and experiencing in my life. Beginning as a child, the summer of about 11 years old or so, when I really wanted to run away. Hot summer day, on my bike, a little notebook and pencil, looking for a cool place to reflect and write. Wearing a summer dress with white leather loafer shoes. The bottom of the right shoe had a worn out hole and my foot would get burned from the hot street when I stopped on my bike. As a six year old child I did run away, across the street to Ellen Jane's house. Watching out our neighbor's window as my mother was walking across the street, cigerette in hand, to come get me. Ellen Jane had a quiet home of composer, which was a new experience for me, she was an artist, a painter. Don't get me wrong, our home was a haven for most of the kids on the block, but as the oldest of four, I needed quiet. I said to Ellen Jane, "Here comes my x-mother". Am I running away from the world? Not sure. I feel less anxious choosing less social media interaction and at the same time I don't feel any less informed. There are any number of ways to keep up with current affairs that are not harmful to the psyche. What is harmful to me is watching over and over again the continued distruction of our democracy.

Disengaging and refocusing with an action plan is a choice.

I am looking forward to continuing my writing here. As the days get longer and with Spring arriving, I'll be sharing what I'm planting in my garden. Sharing my experiences of a first time real vacation with my husband as we travel to new geographic areas, quiet places of solitude. I will also need to continue to share my ever constant fears for the safety of my family as we try and navigate what we can and cannot afford in the grocery store as prices continue to increase astronomically. I will share my continued fears of keeping my family healthy and safe and cared for with proper health care services. I will continue my fight for the protection of my family as we face the shut down of medicaid by this new administration. I will need to share stories of how I constantly worry and fret about how our grand children are going to get their medical and dental care needs met. How our son-in-law will be able to pay for his medical care and the heart medications he needs. How our daughter will be able to pay for her cronic asthma medications.

No I am not running away from the world. I am being crushed by the UNCONSCIONABLE cruelty of this new and damaging america...I am practicing breathing through to the next plan of action, seeking solitude for creating a nurturing plan with my family to protect and keep us safe. Is this where community building starts?

https://medicine.yale.edu/news-article/youth-suicide-is-on-the-rise-yale-aims-to-save-lives/

Photo from 8/2024, of me and my 13 year old grandson. We are at the Vancouver, Canada airport. We are on our way to Toronto to visit my daughter and her family. I do not need to be concerned for them in terms of their health care. Canada's health care system is called Medicare, and it's publicly funded. It's a universal health care system that provides essential medical services to all Canadian citizens and permanent residents.

Listen.

Watching over you, watching over me. Parents watching over. Watching over, holding onto our children. Watching over, holding onto our grandchildren. Watching over, holding onto our parents. Graciously, painfully. They walk into the next world. Sorrow sometimes shadows my heart.

Yet and still. I listen. In prayer and times of unknown. They share their wisdom. We listen. Feeling gratitude for their gifts of love. Feeling joy for the laughter of our children.

Our journeys do continue. Step by step, day by day. We walk. We hold on. We listen. We share.

Our children grow anew. We each grow anew. Life continues. Offering us new growth.

In these early mornings hours before dawn. I write. I listen.

We continue to listen to each other. We continue watching and holding onto over each other.

Listening.

Story of the birds.

Our little granddaughter drew the heart and birds on our living room window when she was ten years old. She’s now twenty. Grandad took a photo to preserve her drawing. I’ve always been Gramma Nonnie to her.♥️

writing from January 31, 2025, my mother's birthday and some notes regarding special friends.

Good morning, yesterday Janurary 30th my husband and I had a wonderful lunch and conversation with a dear friend. Later in the evening she sent a thank you email and this beautiful Washington Post article by Anne Lamott, published yesterday and titled, “The Resistance Will Not be Rushed.” I’m so grateful for our friend sending it our way. I feel out of the loop and out of touch because this is my first encounter and now certainly not my last with this extraordinary author. Last night after I read it, I read it again, out loud to Chuck! We talked about our impressions of her writing and with gratitude for our day. Then I still needed to learn more so I researched about Anne and her many books and articles. I found her on fb and there she had just posted her wonderful article free for all to read. I have been given a gift of a new helper in my life. I’m humbled that I’m learning of Anne Lamott for the first time and excited to read her books and articles.

Anyway…Happy Birthday to my sweet mother today. This is dedicated to her. She is always with me. Her love of learning and curiosity and joy! She was always so excited to learn about a new concept or read a new book. A liberal at heart and in the full since of the word. I miss her every damn day!

I can almost hear her saying, “Wow! Connie I can’t believe you have never read anything by Anne Lamott.” Hope you all enjoy Anne Lamott’s Washington Post article, and thanks again to our dear friend Susan!

Here is the article link and the article in its entirety.

The resistance will not be rushed Resting up to join a peaceful, nonviolent, colorful and multigenerational opposition. Today at 10:38 a.m. EST By Anne Lamott. Her latest book is “Somehow: Thoughts on Love.”

I am not sure what my role in the resistance will be, as my feet and right hip frequently hurt. Also, it was announced in the news beginning several hours after the November presidential election that the resistance is muted, and/or that there is no resistance. Democrats and the opposition leaders — of whom there are apparently none anyway — don’t know what to do. But how could anyone?When my mother fell into a steep decline with Alzheimer’s disease and diabetes in 2000, my two brothers and I met with a gerontology nurse. She listened to our grief, confusion and absolute exhaustion. How would we know when it was time to move Mom to assisted living? How could we keep her from bingeing on the rolls and cookies she was shoplifting from Safeway, which the checkers paid for because they loved her? How could we get her to take her insulin when she was so confused? And the nurse replied gently, “How could you know?” This had not occurred to us. We thought we must be stupid not to know. She said, “You guys all need a good, long rest.” I think we need and are taking a good, long rest. Along with half of America, I have been feeling doomed, exhausted and quiet. A few of us, approximately 75 million people, see the future as a desert of harshness. The new land looks inhospitable. But if we stay alert, we’ll notice that the stark desert is dotted with growing things. In the pitiless heat and scarcity, we also see shrubs and conviction. Lacking obvious flash and vigor might seem as if there is no resistance. But it is everywhere you look. It is in the witness and courage of the Right Rev. Mariann Budde. It is in the bags of groceries we keep taking to food pantries. It looks like generosity, like compassion. It looks like the profound caring for victims of the fires, and providing refuge for immigrants and resisting the idea that they are dangerous or unwanted, and reaching out to queer nieces, siblings and strangers and helping resist the notion that their identities are unworthy, let alone illegal.

It is in our volunteer support for public schools and libraries, because we know the new president holds them in contempt and fear. Teachers and librarians are allies for souls who have been dismissed as hopeless. These unabashed do-gooders will definitely get the best seats in heaven, nearest the dessert table. What they have to offer — patience, companionship, poetry — is about to be defunded by the new administration, but not by us. Resistance may depend on federal district court judges, but it will look like bake sales. Too bad my mom is no longer here to donate her stolen cookies, but I am here, as are all my friends. They ask me for direction, because I am a Sunday school teacher, and they feel like children: “How will we get through the next four years?” I tell them a few things that always help me. First, I tell them what my Jesuit friend Father Tom Weston says when I call him for help when I feel craziest. After assuring me once more that he can counsel Protestants, too, if they are pitiful enough, and no matter the exact details of the latest calamity at the dinner table or in D.C., he always says, “We do what’s possible.” So we are kind to ourselves. We take care of the poor. We get hungry kids fed. We pick up litter. Second, I tell them what Susan B. Anthony’s grandniece said. Also named Susan B. Anthony, she told her therapy clients that in very hard times, we remember to remember. Remember that the light always returns. Remember earlier dark nights of the soul, for ourselves, our families and our nation, when we fell in holes way too deep to ever get out of. Remember the Greensboro sit-ins and the march from Selma to Montgomery, the 2017 Women’s March, the coronavirus vaccine. Remember how in the desert, down by the arroyo, you’ll find dubious patches of pale green, maybe a random desert lily and, impossibly, baby leaves. Molly Ivins would have told me on Nov. 6, “Sweet Pea, we got our horse shot right out from under us.” We did, and it hurts like hell and we loved that horse, and people are laughing at us. We need a little time here to decompress. Now is a time of quiet. A passionate activist friend told me she doesn’t feel very resisty yet, but one thing that characterizes deserts is the stillness, until the wind blows. And, boy, when it blows, it’s like an organ. You can hear its shape and power because everything else is so still. How or when will the wind start up? How could we know? But it always does. Spring is less than two months away — warmth, light, daffodils, life bursting into its most show-offy self. “Give me those far away in the desert,” Saint Augustine said, “who are thirsty and sigh for the spring of the eternal country.” I can tell you this: The resistance will be peaceful, nonviolent, colorful, multigenerational — we older people will march with you, no matter our sore feet and creaky joints. There will be beautiful old music. There will also be the usual haranguing through terrible sound systems, but oh well. Until then, this will be my fight song: left foot, right foot, breathe. Help the poor however you can, plant bulbs right now in the cold rocky soil, and rest.

By Anne Lamott, American novelist and nonfiction writer. Her latest book, “Somehow: Thoughts on Love,” was published in April 2024.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/people/anne-lamott/

Another Snow Day in Sudden Valley

Wakig up to a few more inches of snow this morning. The temp is 23 degrees fahrenheit and -5 celsius. We are running low on a few things so I made an order last night for a grocery delivery this afternoon. Hoping some thawing may occur so it would not be too difficult for the driver. At our age we are not able to dig out the snow around our car, therefore driving is not possible. The snow plows have been out for a few days now taking care of the roads in our little mountain community. We are bewteen Stewart mountain and Galbrath or Lookout mountain, and along Whatcom lake and Lake Louise. Temperatures are suppose to remain in the low 20's and high in the mid 30's for the next 10 days or so, with more off and on snow patterns. I have two weather apps and a very good Whatom county resource on fb to keep us updated on the weather.

I periodically was recieving text messages that our order was in process, our order was completed, our order was on the way, and finally our order was near for delivery. I went out and opened the gate and then stayed at the kitchen window watching for the driver. It's compicated to find these condominiums and the GPS does not do an adequate job of finding us either. This has been our experiene since the first day we tried to find our way here and from many who have visited. I saw the driver stopped on the road and it looked like he was confused. I went out and waved him on into the driveway, just barely able to stop him. He stopped at the side of the road and not down into the driveway. he did not have appropriate shoes for walking in the snow. I was feeling guilty and grateful at the same time. He started walking down the driveway and kindly sat the groceries on the edge of the driveway, with my encouragement, so to be safe. I thanked him several times. He was very kind and waved and was off on his way. Then I went to get Chuck to bring the groceries in from the snow packed driveway where walking was not possible for me yet.

The other thing that happened this morning as I was heading to the shower, Chuck hollered out from his study to, "come here and see something if you can". I went to see what he needed, thinking there was a massive leak in the ceiling from heavy snow or something tramatic like that, and out his study window was a raccoon going under the condominium next door and then another followed. We often see this group of four raccoons in the neighborhood. We have speculated they live under one cono or another.

Such are the happenings of the day so far. As I pop in to read about the catastrophies of the day this new administration is accomplishing, as it inflicts terror in the lives of those with any common since at all to get what's going on so far and in just barely three weeks time. My self care plan is stabilizing my anxiety with thoughts of decluttering my study, but mostly cooking, eating, writng and taking photos of the snow from inside. I can't go for actual walks outside yet because of my fractured ankle, especially in the snow. So conversation with my husband. Television in the evening has been rewatching "Folyes War" a great BBC sitcom that we love, with actor Michael Kitchen, as a police officer, and his crew solving murders, dealing with the German Natzi regime, etc., during the time of WWII. I spend time daily communicating with our family and friends on either text, phone and or zoom. Sleep is very erratic these days. Thank goodness for my lavender oil and valerian. I didn't get to the persimmon cookies yeaterday, however the large batch of granola I made yesterday turned out delicious, as attested by my husband!

I am continuing to really enjoy Anne Lamott's book, "bird by Bird". If you're interested, study the works of Anne Applebaum, a Polish and American citizen. She is a journalist and historian. Her book titled, "Autocracy Inc. The Dictators Who Run the World" is a must read and very informative. As is any interviews you can find with her sharing her knowledge and expertise. According to an article I read at fivebooks.com, "Anne Applebaum is a historian and a staff writer at the Atlantic. She is also a Senior Fellow at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies and the Agora Institute, where she co-directs Arena, a program on disinformation and 21st-century propaganda. She specializes in Eastern Europe and Russia. Anne Applebaum’s books have won a number of prestigious prizes and feature on many Five Books reading lists".

Here is a link to an interview with her from NPR July of 2024. I listend to this in the car coming home from taking my grandsons on a summer outing.

https://www.npr.org/2024/07/23/nx-s1-5049021/expert-on-dictators-warns-dont-lose-hope-thats-what-they-want

Raccoon sighting photos are courtesey of Chuck Britt.

February 3rd continued....

Making granola before I start a batch of cookies. Chuck has been waiting a few weeks as he enjoys it for breakfast. I’ve been slow in getting to it. I have been making my own granola for many years. As I was putting in the ingredients I noticed how pretty they all ended up in the mixing bowl so had to take a photo before adding a half a cup of oil and half a cup of honey that I had heated together. The honey I used was a Christmas gift from my daughter’s neighbor. They have a few bee hives.

Chuck is out sho0veling snow this morning. Our neighbors next door arrived over the weekend. We’re in a condo. They are Canadian and live here a few months out of the year, in winter and late summer. It was 26 degrees earlier this morning, it’s 32 now. While Chuck was out shoveling snow away from the front door and the walk way, he spoke with them. They said it’s 20 below where they are from and it feels like spring here to them.

recently I’ve been viewing my news on Substack and Bluesky. It is difficult and frightening to get through the day with what’s happening in the new administration. I find I definitely need more news than fb or some of the other regular news outlets I had been following are offering. I read an article by Emily Amick, on Substack that was encouraging earlier this morning. Insightful in terms of not feeling alone with what’s going on inside of me right now. The author states the obvious, however when anxiety drowns it out of me I start to “look for the helpers” which is a habit as you may now know I’ve done since I was a child. I just didn’t know it until Mr. Roger’s reminded me. This article seemed to be helpful. Here’s a quote from a portion of the article, “When you engage with purpose rather than rage, when you choose action over cynicism, you start to weave yourself back into the fabric of your community. You discover that while you can't control everything happening in the political sphere, you absolutely can control how you show up in your own corner of the world.” Anyway, if you have any thoughts from reading the article, please do share. "Feeling Helpless? That’s Exactly What They Want." Viktor Frankl found purpose in the darkest times, his lesson is more urgent than ever, by Emily Amick

Here is the link:

https://emilyinyourphone.substack.com?utm_source=navbar&utm_medium=web

I made a delicious pot of lentil soup using vegetables that we had grown in our community garden plot this summer, and had put in the freezer. Did you know you can freeze whole tomatoes? Just pop one or two in your soup making process and they cook up and blend in all on their own like magic! I added in chard, parsley and Italian roma beans from our garden that I froze as well. I had never grown the Roma beans, but my garden neighbor shared two starts with me and we got tons of beans from the two plants. Making the soup from our garden veggies felt really rewarding and nurturing!

Finally, here is an uplifting quote from Viktor Frankl that I’ve hung onto for sometime.

“ Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

Photo taken 2/3/25